


A New Day

by Redangelfish098



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Fantasy Action, I Showed This To My Parents Okay, M/M, My First AO3 Post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 04:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20168149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redangelfish098/pseuds/Redangelfish098
Summary: Vincent's living an ordinary life, one another might call boring but one he happens to enjoy. He attends college, works part-time at a local grocery store, and rents a run-down apartment. He doesn't have a lot of friends, doesn't do very much at all, yet that's fine by him.He's perfectly content to live in his bubble forever, until he encounters a mysterious spirit from a former world during a visit to his friend's shrine.Things are about to get a whole lot messier, and poor Vince is being dragged along by his braid.





	1. The Start of Something Terrible (-ly Great?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fan-fiction, because I had the idea for it and it just wouldn't let go! I really enjoyed reading the manga and watching the anime for Magi, and was excited to express my love for it. I'm not a pro at writing, so this is just me writing for the heck of it. Thanks for taking a look!
> 
> This story takes place in an alternate universe, divergent to the original storyline of Magi. The story also contains spoilers for the Final Arc of the Magi Manga. If you've caught up with the manga, or don't really care, please continue!

Vince slides open the temple doors with practiced confidence. It’s part of his daily routine. On the walk home from his classes, he stops by to visit the monk he considers a friend.

“Heya, old man!” He waves, setting down his backpack on the wood floor as he feels a smile spread on his face. Hokama glances up from his dusting and returns the boy’s greeting.

“Vincent. It’s good to see you in such a pleasant mood. I have something I need to speak to you about. Please, take a seat.” He gestures to a firm pillow arranged near a short table off to the right of the room.

“What about?” Vince asks. He follows orders, sitting cross-legged and resting his hands in his lap. The attempts to hide his fiddling fingers and keenness to keep his eyes on the ground are futile, however. Usually, he will just share small talk with Hokama, the monk will give him some advice, and then he’ll go home. He isn’t sure about the sudden change in routine. Vincent despises being unsure. His discomfort is apparent as he clears his throat.

“There’s no need to worry, young one. I am only going to tell you a story of why this temple was built.” Hokama smiles reassuringly, and it does the trick. Vince settles down. “Long ago, there existed a world before our own. A cruel god, who stole away the free will of the people, ruled this world. One day four champions of the world rose up to defeat him and restore the people’s freedom.” He folds his hands and gazes up at the ceiling, a faraway look in his eyes.

Vince feels uneasiness return, inflating a balloon in his chest and stealing his regular bravado. He wants to say something, maybe change the topic to a funny thing that happened at lunch that day, but he can tell this is something important. Even though it doesn’t make much sense, it matters to Hokama, so it matters to him. “And they won, right?” Vince offers to move along the conversation and break the silence that’s grown between them.

Hokama’s lips press together. “Almost. Alas, even their combined strength was not enough to free their comrades. They were victorious against the first god, only to be cut down by another, even more vile deity.” He finally looks back down to meet Vincent’s eyes.

“They lost? Then why are you telling me about it?” Vince blinks as the balloon in his chest swells. He had a nagging fear that this whole thing was going to relate back to him somehow, in a way he wasn’t going to like. That happened sometimes, too often than he wanted to admit. Sometimes Hokama’s advice wasn’t very nice too hear, but it always helped him eventually. Hokama had his trust.

“The point isn’t that they lost, but that they tried at all.” The elder shuts his eyes for a moment and nods to himself. “The story goes that after centuries pass and their power is rediscovered, the champions will return to defeat this world’s god once and for all, freeing us from the grasp of another’s will eternally.” Hokama opens his eyes and his brow furrows at Vince. “This temple is falling apart, and I am growing old. I’m afraid I can no longer protect what was placed in my care.” He doesn’t seem to blink as he stares on, his iron will gluing Vince to his seat. The old man was about to ask a big favor, wasn’t he? Vince being Vince, no matter how difficult the task, would most likely agree. Sometimes he really hated himself.

“I will return shortly. Remain here.” Hokama stands and marches to the back room, leaving Vincent to sit and stew in his thoughts. Although Hokama was always serious, Vince had never seen him so severe. His seriousness had always been of a calm, thoughtful kind. Vince sighs, trying to relieve some of the tension in his body. It doesn’t work.

“Here it is.” The monk states simply. A white cloth in his hands shifts to reveal a gleaming, sharp ruby stone attached to a glittering silver base. It looks like some kind of wand. “This is what this temple was built to protect. It is the wand of one of the four champions, a relic from the past world. I wish for you to be its next guardian.” He sits again and carefully passes the wand to Vince. Vincent is wary. Part of him wants to brush off all of the magical stories Hokama told, but the shimmering wand definitely has an aura of darkness that’s making him nauseous. He tries to be careful not to touch it, but his hand grazes its hilt.

Suddenly, the aura seems to thicken until it’s visible. He and Hokama watch with wide eyes as a figure appears from black smoke that’s enveloped the room. A sharp cackle hits Vincent’s ears, urging him to cover them.

“Well, it’s ‘bout time! I’ve been stuck there way too long!” The smoke clears and Vince sees the speaker clearly. A shiver runs along his spine. His near copy monitors him with monstrous crimson eyes. They share pale skin, along with a braid of thick, inky black hair trailing over his shoulder, albeit the shadow clone’s is much, much longer. Vince is slightly jealous, but this is no time for that.

“What’s with the empty stares? That’s no way to treat an honored guest, you know! Who taught you manners?”


	2. Crybaby Meets Gothboy, And There's A Monk Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent stares at Hokama, and a silent message is passed. He knows that this is probably the right thing to do, and that sucks.

The former shadow, now appearing mostly solid, glares at the two with an offended expression. He places a hand on his chest and leans close to Vince. “If you’re gonna steal my look, at least treat me with respect.” His copy frowns, glancing down at Vince’s clothing. “Jeez, what century is this? That top does not go with those pants.” Vince blinks and furrows his brow. Did this creature just insult his fashion sense? He peeks back at the wand the man emerged from, now tightly in his grasp. A strange kind of fear rises in his throat, yet Vince somehow finds a voice.

“You’re one to talk. What are you even wearing? Put on a shirt, for crying out loud!” Vince returns his glare and tries to sound at least a bit sure of himself, tries to hide to waver in his voice and the shaking of his hands. His outfit really is odd, some type of crop top barely covering his chest mostly hidden by a pearl colored scarf. His pants are baggy and reach his ankles. Vince restrains a grimace at the tight choker around his neck. He hopes his words sting a bit. To his chagrin, the figure merely smirks.

“You’ve got teeth, that’s promising! I was honestly gettin’ worried there for a sec, kiddo.” He straightens his back and offers a hand. “My name’s Judar, what’s yours?” The newly named Judar stares expectantly. Vincent spots violet eye shadow above his crimson orbs. Eye shadow? Seriously? His unease combats with a growing annoyance.

Vince narrows his eyes, not accepting the handshake. He doesn’t want to accidentally make a deal with a demon, or some other cliché TV show hook. “Vincent. Who are you, and what do you want?” Judar puts down his hand, seemingly unsurprised. That smile of his spreads impossibly wider. Vince already hates it, twisted like some kind of Cheshire cat wannabe. Moreover, he’s levitating, probably just to show off his magic.

“Straight-forward type, huh? Reminds me of a friend. If you wanna know who I really am, I’m sure Gramps here can tell ya all about it.” Judar turns to the old monk, still gazing on with bright eyes. Vincent had nearly forgotten about him for a moment, caught up with Judar’s presence.

“You’re one of them… the champions!” Hokama rushes into a bowing position. Vincent holds back a scowl. He can already tell this ‘Judar’ person doesn’t deserve that kind of deference. Then the words catch up to him, the truth plain as day. The story was real after all, and the proof was standing before him.

“Pardon me, O great one, but you don’t seem like the hero type.” Vincent’s nervous, and when he’s nervous he falls back on sarcasm. Not the best plan, considering how many fights it’s gotten him into. He notices Judar pout at Hokama before turning back to him, as if his practically worshipping of Judar were disappointing.

“I’m not. The only reason I did any of this is because I…” He trails off, eyes glazing over. The slanted rubies almost glow on his face. Vincent nearly asks him what’s the matter, but Judar snaps out of it before he forms the words. “Screw this. Here’s the short version. I need you to help me find Hakuryuu, and then he can figure out how to stop that stupid king, so I can spit in his face. Capiche?” Judar’s demeanor shifts, and the air feels heavy. He taps his foot against empty air, staring at Vince with ferocity in his glare that wasn’t there before.

“Wait, hold on, what?” Vincent shakes his head and tries to make sense of the situation. “What are you asking me to do? Who’s Hakuryuu? What king?” He looks on, helplessly confused. His eyes find Hokama, who simply looks back with a stony expression. What’s that supposed to mean? Does he expect Vince to agree with this freak who suddenly appeared, take a ride on his magic carpet to go kill a god? Vincent gulps, knuckles turning white as his rigid grasp on the relic tightens further.

“You ask too many questions. I’ve got something to do; I need you to do it. That’s all you have to know.” Judar crosses his arms. “Things were so much simpler in the old world. People actually listened to ya, and stuff got done.” He yawns, unimpressed with Vince’s hesitation. Vince can’t believe what he’s hearing. This is ludicrous! Who does this guy think he is? Vincent stands, pointing with the wand on instinct.

“You think I’m going to drop everything and help some demon-ghost I just met, because he told me to? All that time in this stupid wand must have made you lose your mind!” Vincent steps closer to Judar, snarling. Judar doesn’t react to his yell, instead eyes locking on the relic. He swipes for it, but the instant his hand makes contact it bursts into black butterflies. Both of them jump, and Vince drops the wand. A screeching shuts his eyes and pulls his hands to his face. When he looks up, Judar is gone.

“What… what the heck just happened?” Vince pants, gazing down at the fallen relic with a mixture of terror and concern. Hokama rises to meet his height, shaking.

“I believe you summoned one of the champions from his relic. When you dropped it, the wand lost contact with your spirit, and the connection that allowed the champion to appear was broken.” Hokama struggles to keep his voice even. Vincent worries that this whole ordeal might have been too much for him. The monk steels himself and soldiers on. “I could tell from the moment we met you were special, that you were meant for something greater. I believe this is it. You mustn’t turn away from your fate.” The shakiness has vanished and now Hokama regards him with absolute assurance.

“But… what about college? My friends? My life? How do you even know we can trust this lunatic?” Vincent bites his lip, his eyes beginning to burn. No tears, not today. He hasn’t cried since his mother died, he’s not about to start again now. Vincent thinks about it, tries to digest the concept of embarking on a quest to gather relics and defeat a deity with Judar. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. But, his words are shallow excuses. It isn’t like he has a lot of friends who would miss him. Not much of a life either, excluding school and a part time job at a grocery store. It’s towards the end of the year anyway; he’s already finished testing. Vincent stares at Hokama, and a silent message is passed. He knows that this is probably the right thing to do, and that sucks.

“Vincent. You have the opportunity to free our world, to stop a being that has tormented innocents for millennia. It is your decision.” Hokama withdraws and Vince’s eyes land on the wand.

He has a choice to make.

Vincent picks up the wand, and swirling darkness surrounds.

“Glad to know you’re on board, sport.” The ghost says smugly, and Vince sighs quietly. 

“Let’s be clear; I’m not your servant or minion or whatever, I’m doing this for the greater good.” Vincent glares at Judar, who waltzes past him to Hokama. Vince must admit, that man’s doing a great job of keeping his composure now. The demon scoffs, kicking his bare foot just above the ground. Vincent shares another glance with Hokama.

“I never believed in that ‘greater good’ nonsense.” Judar crosses his arms and faces the monk. “Thanks for protecting my relic, I guess. Hakuryuu would be upset if I didn’t mention my gratitude to you.” He mocks a bow and turns to Vince. “So, we heading out?” Judar cocks his head.

Hokama is stunned into silence for a moment. “Ah, you two should be leaving then. It… it was an honor to watch over your wand, champion. I wish you luck on your quest.” He returns Judar’s bow sincerely and smiles at Vince. “You have the strength to do this, young one. I believe in you and now you need to believe in yourself.” 

In Vince’s opinion, this was moving awfully fast. “Hold on a sec, we can’t just leave! Have either of you ever heard of preparations? This is the real world not some fantasy! I have to pack, plan, probably talk with my guidance counselor about taking a year off from college, quit my job…” As the list grows Vincent’s small amount of gathered courage dwindles. “How am I supposed to get money? Where are we even going?” He stares between Judar and Hokama helplessly.

His old friend smiles again. “You’ll figure it out. You’re a smart cookie.” He steps forward and ruffles Vince’s hair. Judar groans in the background, growing impatient. Vincent could say the same about himself, irritation and anxiety soaring.

“Ugh, can we cut the sentiment? I’m gonna vomit, you’re killing me here.” Judar imitates nausea, and Vincent is reminded of how uneager he was to run away with an immature spirit. But, he doesn’t really have an option otherwise, does he? Sure he could ignore all of this and return to his normal life, but it would always be looming over him, the ideas of what he could have been and could have done. He had enough regrets already, thank you.

“Alright, gothboy, let’s move. We’ll be stopping at my apartment so I can settle things. And, you can tell me your full story and what we’re actually doing.” He points at Judar with his free hand. “There’ll be no ‘that’s all you need to know’, okay? I’m practically throwing my golden age away for you, you owe me.” He glances to Hokama. “Thanks for all you’ve done. Once this is over I’ll be back, to tell you all about it.” He nods and treads to the door with Judar hot on his heels, gently floating beside him.

“”Gothboy’? I’ll abide by your stupid rules, just never call me that again.” The sheer disgust on Judar’s face makes Vince crack a smile. He waves to Hokama, and leaves the shrine. 

The sun has sunk lower in the sky, afternoon slipping into early evening. Leaves of tall, green trees wave as moss naps on ancient stone sculptures. The grass sways by a pleasant breeze. Vincent starts on the path home, the path he’s walked a thousand times. He knows which crumbling steps to skip, which ones have been overgrown without even looking.

The outside world is the same as it was each day he left the shrine before, yet Vince, clutching a magical wand followed by his tag-along phantom, couldn’t disagree more.


	3. Raining on Some Idiots, and a Unwelcome Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent returns a broader grin. Once Judar turns to him, his own smile changing into a smirk, is when Vince is finally sure they can do this.
> 
> Together, they can search the world for one out of eight billion.
> 
> Together, they can kill a god.

It had started raining half an hour away from his apartment. Vince was finally back in the more inhabited part of town. The boy padded along on the sidewalk watching store names pass. He had noticed the dark clouds overhead, heard the sky growl its warning. Although he knew a storm was approaching, he had no choice but to press on. He needed to get home. 

Obviously Vince could stop and take shelter somewhere, and he usually would. In fact, he desperately wanted to. Icy drops assaulted his frame, feeding a growing fury. It would most likely get bottled up until the next time he got into an argument. His guidance counselor says that’s unhealthy. She's right. The reason Vincent can’t stop is the floating figure flittering unfondly in the corner of his vision. The ghost of black with red, glowing eyes straight out of a horror movie the young adult couldn’t be bothered to see. It- he yawns again, as if resting on the whistling wind beginning to pick up pace is oh so tiring.

“Are we there yet?” Judar groans like a little kid stuck in the backseat of a car on a road trip, the same kind that gets a shoe flung at them. Vincent himself is debating doing the same; despite knowing it’ll only phase through. When Judar went for the wand his hand burst into eerily ebony birds, or butterflies, or whatever they were. Vince wonders if it hurt. 

“No. Almost. Just another half an hour.” He responds, wistfully missing the momentary silence. He realized a while back that talking to empty air was a bit off-putting. Vince suffered several concerned and disturbed stares. He had established a new arrangement of items. His bag slung across the right shoulder, wand secure in his pocket, and a cheap cell phone to his ear. The passerby would assume he was chatting with a nagging relative if they overheard him. His first plan was to ignore Judar. Though, the phantom immediately threw that out the window with almost non-stop chatter. 

“The heck does that mean?” Judar rolls over, hovering with his stomach to the ground. The pearl scarf around his neck slips slightly and the edges tease the pavement. His gold ornaments are still glittering on his wrists. The thought of how long ago he got them crosses his mind. Judar raises a dark brow at Vince. Vincent blinks slowly, reconsidering his analysis of him. 

“Do… do you have any concept of time? Like, do you know what an hour even is?” Vince takes a moment to reevaluate his view of Judar. This specter was from what, the Middle Ages? Earlier? Hokama said something about a whole other world. No wonder he was so… off. “How old are you?” Vince pressed on, an odd pain sharpening in his gut.

“Duh, ‘course I do. I know it’s summer. I’m not dumb, I just have no idea about your stupid time system or whatever.” Judar scowls, clearly offended. “I’m 23. If you call me old you’re dead.” He drifts ahead and twists his head back to Vince, glaring, as if daring him to do just that. Luckily for the spirit, Vincent wasn’t interesting in insulting Judar. The young adult was currently feeling something akin to horror and pity. The revelation occurred in time with a vicious strike of lightning. The storm was close.

Vince kept his voice down, coming to an abrupt stop on the pavement. “Just… just the opposite, really. I’m, uh, sorry you died so young.” He didn’t quite know what to say. Judar was only two years older than him. A bubble expanded in his chest, of mortality and times of centuries ago, of endings and second chances. It was like a slap in the face. Vince was almost grateful for the chilling rain splashing on his face and shoulders, the drops spilling down his chest and sides. He thought he might have been crying again. “I’m sorry for being so rude to you.” Vincent watched to see Judar’s reaction.

Confusion. A different kind than when faced with time, a sad kind mixed with surprise. “You’re sorry? For being rude to me? I haven’t broken you already, have I?” Judar’s feet mimic touching to the ground in front of Vince. He crosses his arms, sighing. “Listen, kid, no need to feel bad for me. I killed a lot of people. Wasn’t looking forward to bein’ an old bag of bones anyway.” Judar shrugs and looks away for a moment. “Besides, I’m not really dead. I’m a ghost. I get another try to make things right. That’s… more than I deserve.” He lets out a hollow chuckle and Vince looks up. “Wipe that dumb look off your face. So what? I have a soul, get over it.” Judar adjusts his golden bracelet, averting his eyes as if he was embarrassed. 

Vincent smiles, small, slightly strained yet soft and simple. “I misjudged you, Judar. I think we’ll get along great. Let’s get to my apartment.” He pulls up his backpack, the bag having slid nearly off his shoulder during their conversation. Vince touches the wand in his pocket and reminds himself to keep it close. Another bout of thunder, with a bolt of lightning coming only a few seconds later freezes him in place and almost gives him a heart attack. Judar merely rolls his eyes.

“Isn’t there a faster way to get there? Like, without testing Mother Nature?” Judar grimaces at Vince’s fear. After a silent moment, the college student gets an idea. The ghost peers at his device, Vincent manically typing numbers and then pressing it back to his ear. At Judar’s quizzing stare he responds.

“A classmate owes me a favor. I helped him study for finals.” A wide grin is plastered across his face. “He has a car.” The words are spoken like eureka, like the solution to all of life’s questions.

Judar blinks, expression unchanging. He tilts his head to the right. “The heck’s a car?”

***

Plenty less than half an hour later, Vincent is saying his goodbyes to the helpful classmate, who speeds away in a red blur. Vincent is certain it’s illegal to drive that fast. He doesn’t really care at the moment. All he cares about is getting inside, warm and dry. Judar glides to his side. It had been interesting riding in a moving vehicle, and trying to keep up as a spirit. “Let’s never do that again.” He shakes his head, and Vincent grins. 

Vincent leads Judar up a metal staircase, which creaks and groans as he traverses it. Judar hovers silently behind him. Vincent can feel his judgment already. He appreciates Judar staying near him instead of dashing to the door, but privately wishes the phantom had a concept of personal space. Vincent also applauds Judar holding his tongue, at least for now. They reach the door and Vince holds up a hand. He looks over to Judar, making sure the other is paying attention. 

“Before we go inside, let’s lay down some ground rules for the time we’ll be spending in there.” Vince puts up his index finger and Judar grumbles something that Vincent can’t make out. “Firstly, no making fun of the apartment. I worked hard to get this and rent it with my own money.” He raises a brow at Judar and the sprite nods, not bothering to conceal a massive eye roll. “Secondly, no messing with the lights, or any other poltergeist activities that may potentially harm the apartment.” Vince adds his middle finger to his index, wiggling the two claws like a stern parent. Judar remains unimpressed.

“I don’t even know how to do any of that stuff.” He folds his arms, gilded ornaments around his wrists, nearly to his elbows, clinking together and jangling without humor. “But I promise, I won’t spontaneously generate those abilities and test them on your innocent home.” Judar places a hand to his chest and bows. Vincent puts his hands on his hips.

“I really don’t like your tone, Mister.” Vince pouts, barely restraining a grin. “You will not use any of your demon powers while you’re under my roof.” Vincent cracks and starts giggling. He isn’t sure why it’s so funny. He’s probably just happy to be home. It feels like it’s been years, though Vince knows he’s only been gone an average day.

Judar joins in the laughter, the two enjoying a minute of glee. After a bit they calm down. “So, any more rules before we get outta the rain?” Vince had nearly forgotten the downpour. Suddenly the drizzle feels sharper, like tiny spears of ice stabbing into his skin. A gust of wind casts his braid to the side. A part of him is unnerved by how the gale fails to affect Judar in the slightest. 

“Forget the rules, let’s just get in before this storm gets worse.” Vince digs the keys out of his bag and struggles for a time attempting to unlock the door. Judar waits, not quite patiently, trying to tap his foot on the top stair. The extremity bursts into black rukh each time it makes contact. Judar furrows his brow and tries again. Eventually Vincent bests the lock and they enter his home. Vince shuts the door and locks it again. He sighs, grateful to be out of the rain at last. 

Judar scans the living room, taking in the cheap furniture and sparse décor. He frowns at the small black rectangle resting on a wooden stand. Vincent grabs his braid and begins ringing it out, twisting it tightly and letting any water drip on his doormat. He could deal with a wet mat later. Vince yawns, exhaustion from the day beginning to catch up to him. All he wanted was to pass out on the couch, but he had more pressing matters to attend to. The day had turned fully into evening now. 

Judar steps further into the den. The spirit eyes a shelf of cases, shiny, spines titled with colored text in unique fonts. The top shelf is burdened by a dying houseplant, brown leaves stretching out like a desperate hand. Hakuryuu would be upset. Gardening was a beloved hobby of his; he was always adopting new plants and caring for them in his spare time. Judar bites his lip, face burning with unshed tears. He was going to find him. He had to, whatever it took.

Vincent combs a hand through the head of his hair. He debated redoing his braid since it was already splitting apart, but decided on forgoing it for now. Vince notices Judar staring at his houseplant on verge of tears. “Uh, I didn’t know you cared about plants so much. I’m definitely no green thumb, heh. I forget to water it all the time.” Judar wipes his face with a hand, brushing away the anguish uncovered. 

“I’m not cryn’ about the weed, kid.” Judar laughed, the sound coming out raspy and strained. “It… it reminded me of a friend of mine, that’s all.” He inhaled deeply, masking any remaining pain. Vince saw for the first time how tired he looked, his head hunched over with black strands in his face and askew. Brows knitted in emotion, lips pressed together to prevent strife spilling into words. Vincent knew how that felt. He had seen the same expression in the mirror the day he lost his mom. 

“Ha- Haku- uh, that guy you mentioned before, right? The one you want to find?” Vincent couldn’t exactly remember the name, and he could tell Judar would discover a way to murder him if he said it wrong.

“Yeah. Hakuryuu. He likes that kinda stuff, plants and fruits and vegetables. Sometimes he talks to them when he thinks no one’s looking.” A rueful smile had appeared on Judar’s features, softening the sharp edges. 

“Don’t worry, Judar. I know we’ll find him. Once you get back together you can tell him about how a houseplant made you cry. Then, he can figure out how to stop that stupid king, so you can spit in his face.” Vincent returns a broader grin. Once Judar turns to him, his own smile changing into a smirk, is when Vince is finally sure they can do this.

Together, they can search the world for one out of eight billion.

Together, they can kill a god.

“Ya know you’re not that bad, kiddo. I think we’ll get along.” Judar glances to the seedling again. “You should really water that thing. It’s not gonna hold on much longer.”

“I think we’ll get along too, Judar.” Vincent follows Judar’s line of sight and grimaces. “I really should, huh?”

***

Hokama sips at a hot cup of tea, kneeling on a mat before a low oak table in a side room of the shrine. He reviews the day’s events in his mind. Vincent had visited mid afternoon around the same time he always does. They had discussed the previous world and the champions. It was difficult for Hokama to talk about those things, long buried memories of golden birds and bloody screams threatening to resurface. 

The monk sighs, letting out stress and fear. He had been nursing a headache for the better part of two hours. Well, that’s what the tea is for, isn’t it? Hokama takes another sip and continues his reverie. He showed Vincent the relic he protected for so long, and relented on passing over the duty. The action itself was so easy, yet knowing he would never hold the wand again, knowing the buzz of magic that once filled the shrine would disappear, made it arduous on his heart.

Once the relic made contact with its new guardian, the champion himself had materialized. There was a stab of anger then, so unlike anything Hokama ever experienced. He had sacrificed a life of love and opportunity for this being, yet the wand selected the child instead? Although, this was unreasonable. Hokama knew that it was all predetermined, that the will of god forbade any true free choice. He quickly steeled himself and gave Vincent the quest. That boy was one of the only people in the world who could change that, who could change everything.

There is a knock on the door.

Not a knock at the front door, a knock at the door of the very room Hokama was seated in. 

He sighs, collecting himself, and stands. Hokama leaves his half-empty cup of tea on the table, sure to return shortly.

Perhaps it was Vincent? The boy had the key to the gates. He most likely forgot something. Maybe he was coming to say goodbye once more. There was also the possibility he wanted to return the relic, but Hokama had faith the boy would complete his mission. 

Hokama slid open the door, perfectly calm.

Perfectly calm, that was, until someone grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air.

Hokama was not used to having a hand wrapped around his throat and being unable to touch the ground.

He claws at the attacker’s hand. A single hand, not large, about the size of Vincent’s. A single hand, lifting him into the air with ease.

Hokama strains to open his eyes, not aware they had been closed.

The attacker was tall and slim, long black hair tied into a tight ponytail falling over his right shoulder. He wore a large trench coat that didn’t quite fit, the sleeves covering too much of his hands. The one strangling him only had the fingers uncovered. He looked young, not much older than Vince. 

Hokama stopped struggling when he saw his eyes. A light blue, as if they’d been frozen over on a frigid night. The emotion in them kept shifting from hateful to desperate. The left part of the coat’s collar was lower, as if pulled down on purpose, revealing a glint of silver and glowing white.

The boy spoke in a taut voice, a frayed rope about to break, dark bags highlighted by pale skin and those cold eyes. There was a mole on the left of his chin.

“Where is Judar?”


	4. Suspicious Shadows And A Glimmer of Sun

“J- Judar? What… do you want with him?” Hokama manages to speak against the constriction on his throat.

“I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I am the one asking questions.” His eyes narrow, thin slits of cracking ice. After a moment of consideration, he sighs and drops Hokama. “You can either tell me where he is, or I’ll break your neck. It’s quite simple.” The monk can tell a sudden change in his demeanor. Just seconds ago he looked as if he was about to snap, but now he looks calm. Completely in control.

“I don’t know where he is now. That’s the truth.” Hokama rubs his throat. That will definitely leave a bruise. The monk knows well enough that if he tries to dodge the question, it’ll result in violent repayment. An old man like him is no match for… whoever this may be. A slim young man with incredible strength is unusual to say the least. Taunting him would be dangerous. Hokama can tell something is off about the boy. An ominous aura surrounds his figure, growing more oppressive as he looms closer.

“The truth, you say?” A strange and rough laugh escapes him. “I believe you, monk, but I have a feeling you know more than that. Who took him?” He tilts his head, a faint smile showing crude amusement. The boy is leaning in now, eyes focused and determined. He almost feels like a different person.

“What- what are you talking about?” Silently Hokama curses himself, his kneejerk reaction to evade. It’s kicking in before he can think the question through. How did this person know about the champion, let alone his true name? Even Hokama himself, who had been researching the stories most of his long and arguably disappointing life, didn’t know that.

He takes a breath and his gaze wanders to the attacker’s shoulder. The coat’s collar had slipped further, and with the close proximity Hokama could tell now what it was. A pauldron, silver and engraved elegantly, tied around his arm with a dark rope. A seal, an eight-pointed star, gleaming with cold indifference. Hokama recognizes the symbol.

“I thought we had an understanding. I’m wounded, monk. Didn’t you take an oath of honesty, or have times changed that much?” The boy pouts, almost playfully. He’s toying with him.

“You’re not from this world. You… are another of them?” Hokama questions with hesitation, not quite eager for the attacker’s reaction. His mind is already racing with this new knowledge, and what may happen next. He really doesn’t want to get strangled again.

His unwanted companion seems to lose focus for a second after following Hokama’s line of sight. The pauldron’s light flickers, the crushing aura of corruption sways, and the boy’s eyes widen. Hokama is sure he sees confusion, panic even, in the sudden contortion of his features. For a cruel moment he looks so young, so scared. The monk reaches out a hand to the shoulder opposite of what he now realizes is a relic.

The moment ends when he slaps Hokama’s hand away. The weight in the air seems to curl around him, emanating from the shoulder armor. “That… That is irrelevant to my question.” His voice is still light and quivering. He wavers on his feet, face impossibly paler than before. 

Hokama glances back to the pauldron. With what he knows from the short encounter with Vincent and Judar, combined with what he’s learned here, he thinks he’s come up with a theory. It’s clear this is another champion and their chosen. Although instead of partners, it feels their relationship is of a parasite and its host. To sever their connection, all he needs is to remove the armor. Sounds simple enough, except it is the exact opposite of simple. Perhaps he could convince to boy to remove it? Hokama is so deep in thought that the snap in front of his face is enough to make him jump.

“Still there? I was afraid I had given you a heart attack. Or frozen you. Or something along those lines.” The boy’s demeanor shifts again. He seems unsure, nervous? Hokama opens his mouth to begin negotiations, but before he can utter a word, the youth’s head pivots to the side. His eyes narrow, then a smile splits his mask in two. After a short eternity of confusion at the silence, a pain stabs through his skull and Hokama cradles his head in his hands. An instant of glory and gold and blazing embers burns his mind. 

Hokama manages to peek open one eye, to see much to his surprise the intruder has vanished. Echoes of agony cram his cranium and he wonders if this entire event was a hallucination. He reaches a hand to feel his neck.

A raised bruise of a single hand, wrapped around his throat. 

Hokama breathes in deeply, reviewing every life choice he’s made up until this point and finding immense regret. He crawls back to his low oak table.

The worst realization of all. His tea has gone cold. 

***

Vincent taps away at his laptop, typing up an email to his guidance counselor. He’s stretching across the entirety of his modest loveseat and propping his head with an old throw pillow. Judar, on the other hand, does not seem to understand the concept of ‘chilling out for a little while’, gliding around the small apartment with wide eyes. He’s been at it for twenty minutes. Vince isn’t sure ghosts need breaks, or get tired, but just looking at him makes Vincent exhausted. Even more so than he already is, though the couple of energy drinks he chugged should have kicked in by now. 

He watches as Judar zooms through the short hall to the bedroom, then back out to scrutinize the dining room and kitchen. Well, more accurately, his cramped kitchen with a table wedged in between two counters. Vincent always wondered why the builders left a gap there. The laminate countertops, he knows, have plenty of scratches from cooking mishaps and he suspects a majority of the dents are his doing as well. He could probably tell someone how each one got there. Vincent sighs, the reminder of his poor life skills feeling like a hammer blow to his already low self esteem. The spirit’s close examination of every nook and cranny of his home tormented by mediocre housekeeping isn’t helping. Neither is the thundering outside and loud rain against his windows. Vince hopes the roof doesn’t leak.

“This is it? Where’s the rest of your house?” Judar decides that this specific moment of Vince’s wallowing in insecurities is a wonderful time to interrupt the even quiet. The ghost eyes an unplugged toaster with open hostility while he ponders, and Vince almost laughs. Almost. The young adult closes his computer lid, refusing to send the pitiful message until he revises it, and strolls over to the counter. 

All that separates the living room and kitchen is a bar lacking alcohol and a TV stand in front of it. With a brave exhale, he braces himself for jabs and insults. Though, since the ‘I’m crying over a dying plant’ situation an hour or two ago, he suspects those slights are Judar’s unique way of communication.

“Uh, yeah, this is it. I’m still in college. I work part time at a grocery store, though I don’t think that means anything to you. This is all I have the money for. And, it’s not that bad.” Vincent leans on the TV stand, staring across to Judar in the kitchen. To be honest, he’s seen worse, and he likes the mostly open floor plan. It’s home to him, and that’s all that counts. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Judar casts another curious scan over the room and down the hall. “Huh… I’ve just seen peasant houses with only one or two real rooms. Guess times for the less fortunate have really improved huh?” Vincent would normally get offended at being called a modern day peasant, but the sincerity in Judar’s observation leaves him at a loss. This guy was full of surprises.

“By the way, what the hell is that?” The ghost points at the toaster, lips downturned into a frown. “I think it’s watching me. Does it eat meat?” This time Vince lets out a bubbly giggle, the overload of caffeine seemingly kicking in all at once and leaving him lightheaded. He should probably eat something, but the laughter is flowing out too wildly. After a minute of non-stop hysterics, Judar’s frown deepens.

“Ha, ha, chuck it up. That thing is freaky lookin’, don’t blame me.” He lifts his hands in the air then folds them. When the laughter still doesn’t stop, and tears begin dripping down Vince’s cheeks, Judar instead chooses to poke him. “Wasn’t that funny… you okay kiddo?” Judar happens to forget he can’t physically interact with anything, and when his finger bursts into black butterflies he yelps. He will never admit to this.

Apparently his unmanly cry of terror was enough to bring some semblance of sanity back to Vincent. The young adult blinks away wetness and gulps back another bout of chuckles. “I’m just so tired…” He yawns, jaw nearly unhinging, as if on cue. The breath breaks into smaller giggles. His walnut eyes are tinged red, and Judar can tell he’s about to pass out.

The magician, honestly, does not know how to handle this situation. He’s never had to deal with something like this. While during the civil war beginnings, he and Hakuryuu were certainly sleep deprived, they were never like this. Or were they? He can’t quite remember, the images slipping like sand through his fingers as soon as he grabs them. Judar scowls, struggling even to ball his hands into fists as they unfocus. They almost look like he’s watching them through murky waters, rippling and distant. Judar turns his attention back to Vince. The poor kid’s barely standing.

“Hey, let’s, uh, get you to the couch, eh? You take a power nap and we’ll get back to the operation when ya wake up.” Usually Judar would not dream of being so considerate to another (well, other than Hakuryuu) but as far as he can tell Vince’s state is directly linked to his. That means he’s gotta take care of this idiot if he wants to stick around. Judar herds the boy to his ivory sofa with waving hands and loud noises. Eventually they make it there and Vincent flops onto the cushions. Judar can see he’s out like a light. 

By the time the snores start, Judar’s figure has melted into black rukh and reentered his relic. The sharp ruby sticking out of Vince’s pocket shimmers with magic.

Pacing in the endless black, Judar thinks that a while here will be far more bearable knowing there’s someone waiting for him. That there’s still a world out there, away from the all-consuming void.

*** 

Three hours later, Vince blinks open bleary eyes and releases a yawn. His head is throbbing, but he feels more awake. He sits up on the loveseat and rubs his sore shoulder. The position he was sleeping in was not comfortable in any means. Vincent glances out a near bay window and sees the rain has lightened considerably. The storm has mostly passed. At first he begins sorting through his memories and is convinced it’s a dream. A demon ghost haunting him, a magic wand, some wild quest from another world? Vince lets out a huff of laughter; delirious until a stabbing into his thigh rips him back into reality.

Vincent feels in his pocket, something long with a larger, sharp part at the top. He reluctantly removes it and wants to bash his head against the wall when he recognizes it. That ruby wand, the ‘relic’ from Hokama’s shrine. Not a dream then. He traces the detailed markings on the silver, long forgotten symbols that were probably enchantments. Vincent has a lot of mixed emotions about this stupid wand. There was still the stinging sensation of losing his old life, the blissful ignorance of the world’s true nature. But now something new was forming with each truth he discovered.

A dark spirit, connected to him by fate, which was kind of a brat but also kind, in his own way. Another world, before this one, teeming with magic and mystery, now gone due to an evil deity that is was his mission to destroy. A system of champions, relics, and ‘relic-holders’ he was just beginning to scratch the surface of at all. Of course Vincent was terrified, but looking at everything now, he feels a spark of excitement. He gets to live his own fantasy novel. At this moment Vince notices no ‘whoosh’ of Judar skimming past in the air, in fact, there’s no other sound in the apartment at all. Only his breath and the beat of his heart. Well, also the buzzing of the outdated fridge, and the whirring of the partially broken AC unit, but that kinda ruins the mood.

“Miss me, kiddo? You blacked out a while ago, really gave me a run for my money with drama queen of the year.” Judar’s sudden voice behind him would have usually made him lash out, but his reflexes are dulled with early morning weariness. Wait. Was it early morning? Vince forgoes answering Judar, instead pulling out his phone to check the time. 

“9:32 PM. Holy moley. There goes my sleeping schedule.” Vincent mutters. Judar leans over to peer at the screen, finds nothing he can understand and turns to Vince for reference. “It’s pretty late right now. I can’t believe I took a nap at six in the evening, what kinda loser am I?” He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. Judar shrugs.

“The kind who passes out before eating dinner? I’m not sure you want me to answer that, kid.” Judar smirks, and Vincent offers a weak smile in turn. He didn’t eat dinner at the time he usually does… maybe that’s why he feels so hazy. It’s like his head is stuffed with cotton. He should get some cereal. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, his phone cries out with the basic ringtone for its model. While Judar leaps into the air a good two feet away, Vince just sighs and answers the unfamiliar number. Probably some scam, or a robocall, or an acquaintance he forgot to add as a contact. In his sleepy state he doesn’t think to ignore it.

“This is Vince Riley, who’s calling?” Vincent introduces himself in a dull, uninterested tone. The only thing interesting him at the moment is getting some Cheerios. Even Judar, quite literally, hovering right next to him, leaves him unfazed. The light carpet underneath his feet feels soft, and he contemplates falling onto it.

“Vincent, I’m glad I got your number right. I have something important to tell you.” The monk’s voice sounding from the other line gives him pause. If Hokama was calling him, it had to be life or death. He didn’t own a phone, so that meant walking hours into town to search for a booth. His brow furrows at the thought of the old man wandering for so long on his own. Vince doubts that could be good for his health.

“Yeah, what is it? Are you okay, Hokama?” Guilt and concern gnaw away at his gut, disappearing what appetite he had assembled. Judar remains quiet, half listening in on the conversation and half watching Vincent. The boy has starting swaying a bit, and if he could Judar would slap him in the face to wake him up. All he can do is watch for now, though the idea of yelling at Vince to sit down does seem appealing. However, that old man who watched over him for like a century is on the other side, and he’s curious why the guy’s contacting them. After the ‘you must accomplish this quest’ he thought the transaction was complete.

“I’m fine, young one.” Hokama’s tone is reassuring, despite the wavering Vince can hear. He’s most definitely not fine. “I ran into an odd situation earlier…” The monk trails off, most likely gathering the right words, while Vincent’s anxiety only grows. “A boy around your age paid me a visit. I… I believe he may be like you. He possessed another ‘relic’, similar to the one I gave you.” Vince can tell he’s glazing over a lot, but his mind in focused on processing what was just said. He exchanges a glance with Judar, who seems just as surprised as he is at the news.

“Are you sure? What happened? What did he say?” Vincent’s toes curl into the cheap carpet, heart racing. He grips the phone closer to his head. This leaves Judar at a disadvantage, forcing him to float even closer to hear. Both are captivated by the call, equally intent on hearing every word.

“He… he was looking for you. Well, Judar, more specifically. Very determined to find him. Before anything could happen, he was distracted by a burst of energy. Did you sense it too? Was it you who emitted it? It seemed too far north…” Unknown to the boys, Hokama huddles in a large threadbare coat, facing an angry sky, murmuring into a phone booth while repeatedly glancing around him. He rubs the bruise around his neck and fights back paranoia. The overwhelming sense of blackness swimming around him, eyes in the dark waiting for him to leave the booth. The intruder who had attacked him was long gone, but his venomous aura left behind a shadow of derangement clinging to the corners of Hokama’s conscious.

“Looking for me? Wait, what’d he look like?” An hour away, Judar barks into the phone, Vincent having noticed the spirit’s close proximity and changed the call to speaker. Vince holds the device between them and flinches at Judar’s loud tone. The ghost is leaning towards the phone and Vince mourns Hokama’s hearing. He ponders the energy burst mentioned and narrows his eyes at Judar, who scowls. “Wasn’t me! Already told you, I can’t do anything! Damn, it’s worse than back in the Rift…” Judar snaps, his voice shifting to a growl. “I didn’t even sense it, but that’s probably cause you knocked out. Little brat can’t even last a few hours, I used to have to stay up for days straight!” The magician blurts out, like he can’t get the words out fast enough. Vincent watches him in shock.

“Judar, I’m sorry, I know you’re upset about the whole ‘ghost’ thing, and you really want to find your friend, but I’m just a regular guy. I’m not a wizard, not your magical guardian sent by the gods, not a hero! I’m not built for this. You can’t blame me for everything that happened to you, I’m trying my best, okay? I just…” Vince feels lightheaded again, and remembers he still hasn’t gotten that cereal. The outburst uses up a lot of his energy and he falls back onto the couch. “I’m sorry, Judar…” He bites his lip and faintly recalls enough to stuff his relic in a pocket. The phone is still tightly in his grasp, though Hokama has fallen silent. 

Judar stares blankly, looking almost as drained as Vince feels. He clenches his jaw, biting back another bitter blow that’s honestly unnecessary. He hasn’t had an ‘episode’ like this since he got back to Kou. Judar thought for a while that he’d changed, that maybe that stupid clay doll was right and all he needed was time and support. That’s all you need to ‘fix’ yourself, right? He grimaces, reminders of the time with little perfect Goldilocks not helping his soured mood. Judar inhales deeply, deciding maybe for once he should heed the guy’s advice. He was an idiot, sure, but he was a king’s candidate because of his ‘wise and pure heart’. Judar breathes in and out a few times. 

“Hey, kiddo? That… that was uncalled for. Uh, really awful thing for me to say now. I… I’m taking my anger out you, when I should be redirecting it into determination to, uh, do what we gotta do. Sorry.” Judar slouches, and falls to hand signals while his eyes seem to be playing a game of tag with Vincent and the ratty carpet. The ‘apology’ is almost an exact copy of one the doll helped him form, but no one but him needs to know that. Besides, like the guy said, an attempt is better than shrugging it off and letting the person you hurt stew in the pain. Like some kinda depressed soup that a certain elder sister lets sit for too long. He got that one from Hakuryuu, and he remembers it made Blondie laugh.

Vincent sniffles and internally berates himself for crying so easily. He can’t tell if it was from the yelling or the apology. Both were equally weighing on his heart, albeit in different ways. He gazes up at Judar, this all-mighty dark magician looking unsure and bashful, and gives a soft smile. “Heh… you’re kind of a loser when it comes to talking to people you know?” Vincent chuckles at the bewilderment on Judar’s face. “Apology accepted. Just don’t yell at me again. For your information, there are ways to communicate other than shouting, jeering, and lamenting. You can always, ya know, just talk.” Vince stands on wobbly feet and pads back beside the magician. Judar continues his state of shock. Vince is about to elaborate when he realizes Hokama’s still on the line.

“Uh, oops… you, uh, heard all of that, didn’t you?” Vincent lightly inquires, face blushing a bit. Judar shakes off the trance and instead chooses a ‘what the heck was that?’ expression. Vince holds back a smirk. For poor Judar’s sake, of course. He feels better knowing he’s not alone in his embarrassment. He’s been outed as a crybaby, but Judar’s been outed as a lame bad boy, so it’s even.

“I’m glad you two are getting along, Vincent.” Hokama murmurs in a fond tone. The shadows around him seem more distant, the eyes closed for this small time of freedom. His oasis of the phone booth won’t last much longer though, unless he wants a massive tab. “I’ll only be able to talk a little while more, so I’ll tell you what you must know.” The monk takes a breath, organizing his thoughts. He hopes those two have been paying attention. “There was a burst of energy somewhere north of here. The nearest town in that direction is Hayabetsu. You should investigate once you get some rest, by that I mean a full night’s sleep. And dinner.” The monk means his tone to be knowing and authoritative, but it comes off as more parental to Vince. A wide smile grows on his features. “Also, before I must go, please be careful Vincent.” Vince laughs.

“Careful’s my middle name!” He jokes, the one who accepted this crazy quest in the first place, and who has nearly tripped over the coffee table more times than he can count. Vince is grinning now, in a renewed mood after contemplating ramen instead of cereal and a good ten-hour’s sleep instead of three. His eyes are tired but bright, and to the magician next to him seem far less red. That’s good. Red’s his color, not Vincent’s. Obviously, it’s good because it means they aren’t as strained, but Judar has priorities. 

“Not something to brag about, kiddo.” Judar decides to join in, because the opportunity was there and he has low impulse control. He can feel how much lighter the atmosphere is, and makes a mental note to be slightly less rude the next time he and the wimpy king meet. Judar lifts his gaze to the watered plant on the top shelf, and there’s resilience there, a certainty of tomorrow. There’ll be a next time. He’ll insult that stupid blond cowlick, maybe pull on the midget’s azure braid, order Hakuryuu to rebraid his hair because it’s too much of a drag to do himself. He’ll see them again.

Vincent snorts and Judar refrains from a pig joke. See, he’s getting better! The old man and him exchange goodbyes, but they’re not quite that. More of a ‘talk to you later’ kind of feeling to them, and Judar likes that. After the call Vince skips to the kitchen and pulls out a bowl and some weird bag. Judar doesn’t follow him, instead looking down at his hands. They seemed so real, though he knows they’re just his rukh showing an image. With Vincent humming in the background, as he sticks the bowl in a white rectangle thing, Judar makes the conscious decision to kick the coffee table. He’s expecting the foot to burst into energy again, so confident nothing will happen, he ventures to hum along with Vincent’s tune.

When his foot makes contact, and he falls back with a howl of pain, Vince has the audacity to cackle before checking out what happened.

Judar is levitating barely an inch above the carpet, holding his leg to his chest. He looks up at Vincent with a mix of agony, shock, and joy. Vince looks back with pure confusion.

***

Somewhere in Hayabetsu Town, there’s a boy sitting on a rooftop. If you were to ask ‘why a rooftop?’ you may expect many different answers. One answer you might not expect is ‘because rooftops are cool.’ His headphones are plugged in and wrapped snuggly around his head, but he’s still listening to the world, albeit in a unique way. The cold breeze hints at an approaching storm, from somewhere south. He supposes, with a smirk, you could take that in several directions. The blond fiddles with the zipper of his worn ultramarine jacket. It always gets stuck halfway up. 

Choosing to forgo the zipper for now, he picks the dagger back up. Instantly he can feel the spirit’s voice nagging him for sitting so close to the ledge. Casually cross-legged, admiring the traffic passing down below. He chuckles at the ghost’s warm tone while fussing over him. The boy can hear his voice over the loud music, of course, because their rukh are tied together. The blade’s symbol, an eight-pointed star, lights up his face and shines with concern. He responds through their connection, and the spirit can’t hide his remaining anxiety but doesn’t push it. He likes that about his champion, how he understands without a long-winded explanation.

The boy stands now, sensing the shadows approaching, uncontrolled and drowning in depravity. Though, one is still lagging behind. That’s fine. He can wait.

The dagger grows heated when he calls on its power. The blade turns ebony, shimmering in the sigil’s light. His arms blend into obsidian with red veins running through. He grins at the sheer power; golden birds fluttering near, drawn by the weapon equip. The moment is broken when his champion mutters something about the unkept mane of hair, half zipped up jacket, and torn jeans that leads to cackles of laughter. 

He can wait for the fight, because he has good company in the meantime.


	5. A To-Do List And Emotional Turmoil (Your Average Day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent turns the phone back off and groans into his pillow. The memories of last night are clear in his mind. He has to start on his trip to Hayabetsu Town today. Map out the destination; see if they can walk or if they have to take a train, pack what he’s going to take. Thank goodness he has no classes today. Vincent remembers that he never sent that email to his guidance counselor, and takes a deep breath.
> 
> “Starting a heroic quest takes so much work.” He mumbles into his pillow, content to lounge in self-pity for a few more minutes.

“Okay. Explain to me what happened again, and don’t leave anything out this time. Even if you think it’s dumb.” Vincent is slurping at his ramen noodles, seated safely at the miniature dining table, if you can call it that, squeezed between two counters. Meanwhile, Judar is buzzing like an overgrown fly, circling his head with a stupid grin on his face.

“I told you, kid! I kicked the table! Was just kidding around, but then I actually hit it! Hurt like hell, but I hit it! I couldn’t do that before.” Judar seems quite proud of himself, though Vince can’t help his skepticism.

“I could use a little more detail, ya know. All the other times you’ve made contact with anything solid, that part of you turned into… whatever those bird things were. What makes this time any different? Also, why the heck were you kicking my coffee table? Is stuff like that normal where you come from?” Vince feels better with actual food in his stomach, and while the nutrition value of ramen can be debated, it’s helping clear his head. He shoves another curl of noodles around his fork into his mouth, and reviews the clues in his head.

What had just happened, right before Judar kicked the table? They were arguing, Judar apologized, they chatted with Hokama, and then Vince left to go make ramen in the kitchen. He remembers regaling himself with bland poetry about the future, something about how no matter how dark the night before the sun will always rise. There was a soft, content, even anticipatory feeling floating through him, something he’d never felt before. Vincent was excited for what’s going to come next.

Then he’d heard Judar’s girlish cry of pain and laughed, taken his meal out of the microwave and chose to investigate.

“I was happy, and when I’m happy I kick things. I also do that when I’m angry. Or bored. Or really don’t like something.” Judar looks disgusted for an instant, and Vince saves his question for after the spirit’s finishes his moment. He wonders if the magician is grossed out by his approach to the topic or the noodles. “They’re called ‘rukh’, but I guess you wouldn’t know that, eh?” Vince shakes his head no, too caught by surprise at the lack of an insult to notice a noodle trailing after his mouth. Was the spirit about to educate him about the magic of his world? 

Judar just sighs. “Rukh are the manifestation of energy, they’re the air, the wind, the waves, everything.” He folds his hands behind his head. “The color of the rukh depends on what fate they’re governed by. White’s the midget’s dad, I think gold or something is for the stupid king, and black is for… I can’t remember.” The magician’s brows furrow and he frowns. Shaking his head, Judar continues. “Whatever. Doesn’t really matter. Anyway, I haven’t been able to do it again.” He taps a finger to the table, but the instant it touches the finger unravels into black rukh. 

“Huh…” Someone else may have had a more intelligent answer, but Vincent was preoccupied with racing thoughts. The birds are a phenomenon of magic. Obviously, that means Judar’s form is made of concentrated magic, and when it tries to interact with anything solid, that concentration separates. Perhaps it’s not only about the magic meeting material, but also a matter of two worlds colliding? Judar is from a former existence, and he probably shouldn’t even be here. That explains why his limbs turn into rukh, sure, but not why suddenly he was able to defy that for one instance. 

What’s the changing variable? Not Judar’s magic, since this whole time he hasn’t been able to use any, and Vince hasn’t sensed any change in the dark aura surrounding him. It’s sort of funny how easily that sensation of doom approaching was able to fade into the background. It wasn’t the wand, because Vince’s been keeping an eye on it since he woke up, and nothing’s different. No, the only thing it could be, well not the only thing, but a pretty good guess is…

“Hey, loser, you still there?” The way Judar says ‘loser’ makes it feel more like a pet name than an insult. Vincent shakes off his daze, and the sleepiness still clinging to him. 

“Judar, how were you feeling right before you kicked the coffee table? Happy, sad, excited? That might be the changing factor on why you were able to make contact.” Vince pieces a theory together in his mind, and hopefully, Judar’s testimony will prove him right.

“Uh… what the heck gave you that idea, shrimp?” The look Judar gives him is dubious, but he answers anyway. “Hum, I guess I was happy, or something? I dunno how to describe it. Words aren’t really my thing.” He shrugs, still having that same look on his face. Apparently Judar wasn’t following his train of thought. Which, if Vince’s theory is correct, is exactly why the magician can’t touch anything. Vincent drums the fingers of his left hand on the dining table while slurping another forkful of ramen.

“Listen to me. You were feeling light, right? Kinda feathery, excited but a little nervous, but confident the future was gonna happen? That’s how I was feeling!” Vincent makes his declaration, then shovels the last of his meal into his mouth and launches himself to the kitchen sink. “That’s how this works! We have to be in sync for you to materialize. Probably something about you synchronizing with the wavelengths of my soul and temporarily being a part of this world.” He spits out the explanation with a mouth full of ramen, frantically washing the bowl with a glint in his eyes.

Judar regards him with a skeptical expression, nonchalantly swimming through the air to hover beside Vince. “You seem pretty confident you’re a genius, kid. And don’t talk with food in your mouth. That’s gross.” He hears himself and almost winces. God, he sounds just like the geezers from Al Thamen. Eat your vegetables, Judar. Sit up straight, Judar. Don’t ignore the emperor, Judar. He shivers and is reminded of how glad he is to be outta there. 

Vincent blinks up at Judar, like a kid who just got caught stealing sweet rolls from the baker. After a too-long pause, he swallows, and regains what little composure he had in the first place. “Sorry. I just had to get it out, you know? Uh… well… it makes sense, doesn’t it? What other explanation is there?” Vincent finishes washing the bowl, and begins drying it with a rag. He belatedly remembers he has a dishwasher, and then remembers that it’s broken. Oh, what a wonderful life he leads.

“I’m just messing with ya. It does make sense. And I’m not one to be talking about how magic between different worlds works. Let’s… uh… get you to bed. Figure the rest of this out in the morning, then head to… that place the old guy told us about.” Judar seems almost ashamed, and Vincent wishes he had a better response. He simply nods, returning the bowl to a cabinet nearly too high for him and starting on a path down the cramped hall.

“Hayabetsu Town. And, um, thanks.” Vincent yawns, and thinks that he’s not exactly sure what he’s thanking Judar for. Maybe being considerate of his health, maybe not pushing the joke, or the questions, maybe everything. He feels the wall with his right hand, careful not to trip. As he goes Vince flicks off any light switches in his wake. Ever loyal, Judar drifts right behind him. When Vince shuts the bedroom door after he enters, the youth swears he can hear a mumbled ‘you’re welcome, kiddo’, but it could just be his imagination.

Vincent opens his eyes to the poorly painted ceiling, and immediately grabs for his phone. First the nightstand, then beside him on the mattress, then finally his pocket. He presses the power button on the back and checks the time. Vince wastes half a minute admiring his lock screen of a gentle sunrise, before letting the numbers sink in. 10:36 AM. 

Well, that’s just more proof that his sleeping schedule has gone to H. E. double hockey sticks. Vincent turns the phone back off and groans into his pillow. The memories of last night are clear in his mind. He has to start on his trip to Hayabetsu Town today. Map out the destination; see if they can walk or if they have to take a train, pack what he’s going to take. Thank goodness he has no classes today. Vincent remembers that he never sent that email to his guidance counselor, and takes a deep breath.

“Starting a heroic quest takes so much work.” He mumbles into his pillow, content to lounge in self-pity for a few more minutes. A familiar stabbing into his thigh reminds him of the wand roughly shoved into his other pocket. Vince wonders why Judar hasn’t reappeared yet to tell him to get up and stop loafing around like the loser he is. Oh no. The magician has already gotten into his head, and it’s barely been a day since they met.

Seemingly on cue, there’s a mocking snoring above him, and lo and behold, Judar himself is hanging over him with a bored look. “Morning, kiddo. So, you gonna wake up and get outta bed or do I have to drag you?” He smirks, and Vincent finds he’s oddly glad Judar is there. He’s a much better alarm clock than his old one, which wouldn’t stop beeping unless you unplugged it from the wall.

“I’m up, I’m up.” Vince smiles and waves Judar off. As he stands he stretches, and lets out a victorious yawn. It’s usually a lot more difficult to get out of bed. But now, he has something to look forward to, even if he still can’t quite place what exactly it is yet. Vincent glances at the mirror hanging on his wall and sees what a wreck he is, with a braid so messy you can’t tell it’s braided and his white button-up despairingly wrinkled. He pads to the dresser and glances back at Judar.

“Uh, I’m gonna find a change of clothes and then probably take a shower. What are you gonna do?” Judar blinks at him, quirks his brow, and Vince’s eye twitches. Did this guy seriously not have any sense of privacy? Vincent was not ready to have a discussion about why he didn’t want to change in front of another person, right after waking up.

“What’s a shower?” Judar’s face scrunches up again, and Vince can now tell it means confusion as opposed to disgust. Vincent himself is bewildered for an instant, until he recalls Judar is from a less advanced world, which, even if it did have something like a shower, probably had a different term for it. Vince sighs, no longer concerned Judar would want to accompany him with his morning rituals.

“It’s like a bath, but there’s a system that channels clean water to a shower head, which in turn, after twisting the shower knobs, sprays water on you. People use it to wash themselves. It’s usually a thing people do in private.” Vincent tacks on the last statement, just in case. He thinks the explanation will be enough and then he can proceed without any Judar interruptions, but the ghost is full of surprises. 

“I know that, little twerp. You think I’d wanna watch you bathe? Don’t flatter yourself, kid. I’ll be in the room with the plain sofas, trying to figure out your state of mind while decorating this shack.” Judar folds his hands behind his head and casually phases through the closed bedroom door, splintering into black rukh only to, most likely, reform on the other side.

This leaves Vincent to sift through the clothing in his dresser, attempting to find a decent outfit, with a cherry red face. He hadn’t meant it like that. He clears his throat and tries to focus on the task at hand. Another white dress shirt with faded black jeans. Perfect. Vince collects his clothing and heads to the bathroom, pushing the entire conversation out of mind.

One refreshing shower later, Vincent strides into the living room newly invigorated. Judar greets him hanging upside down on the ceiling, braid almost brushing the coffee table. Vince debates returning to his bedroom and trying again later.

“Took your sweet time, eh kiddo? Now, we gotta get to that town right? Let’s go!” Judar rolls through the air to Vince with a wide grin, and he remembers why he was so hesitant in the first place. 

“Not quite yet, Judar. I’m going to pack, and finally send that message to my counselor. I’ll have to call my boss too, about taking a week off, but I can do that on the way. I’m not excited for it whatsoever.” Vincent smiles as Judar lets out a groan. “And don’t you think I’ve forgotten about you regaling me with your story. I want all the details. You can follow me around as I pack.” The spirit rolls his eyes, and Vince lets out a soft chuckle. Things weren’t going to be weird between them, which was good.

“Oh, man, I almost thought that’d slipped your mind! But no, nothing gets past you, with all those wits! I knew that big head had to be for something.” Judar’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, but Vincent finds his mood brightening at the compliment. He traverses back midway though his horror movie hallway to get to the closet. Sliding open the door, he sifts through junk for several minutes before finding his old suitcase. Vince could always use his backpack, but he doesn’t know for sure how long he’ll be gone. And he has a lot of stuff to pack, just in case.

“So go on, tell me the tale of Judar. I’ve been thinking of you as some kind of magician, is that right? With the wand and all, you’d fit right in at a magic show. Maybe a circus.” Vincent’s not sure Judar even knows what he’s talking about, but Vince thinks that was a good insult. He’s getting better at playing Judar’s game. 

“Oh, I bet you think you’re so clever. Yeah, I’m a magician. A Magi, to be more specific. Magi are sorcerers of creation, instead of just using the energy inside of us to do magic, we can absorb magoi from other living things. Way cooler than plain old humans.” Judar sticks his tongue out and follows Vincent to his bedroom. He gives an affirmative nod of his head, and Judar rolls his eyes.

“What? Aren’t you gonna ask any questions? Seem at all interested in me? You know, you’re a lame listener. Are you even paying attention to me?” Vince chuckles, padding around his room to assemble what he’ll need for the trip. Extra clothes, books, his journal, phone charger, and any thing else he can think of at the time. He’s careful not to overfill it, since he still needs to pack bathroom supplies and snacks. They might be staying at a motel if the trip is a longer one. Judar huffs above him, judging his packing with gleaming crimson eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m listening Judar. I just don’t talk a lot when I’m focused on something. So you’re a Magi, that’s cool. Some kind of special wizard. Really neat, but I wanna hear about your old world. Tell me about your life.” Vince stuffs three more slightly wrinkled button-up shirts into his suitcase, and ambles off to the bathroom. Judar pouts when his attention shifts again, but readily accompanies him.

“Whatever, it’s not like I care. You can do what you want; I’ll just keep talking. You brought this upon yourself, kid.” Judar narrows his eyes at the unfamiliar items, marked with symbols he can’t read. He thinks he used to know how to read, back when he was younger. But it’s just a passing thought. Besides, it’s probably a different language than the one he knew anyway. It doesn’t matter. Vincent smiles, a thing he does too much, if you ask Judar.

“Since you asked so politely,” Judar begins with a haughty tone, “I was born in a lonely mountain village on the outskirts of the Kou Empire-“ He’s interrupted by Vincent’s deadpan expression, the entire fury of which is directed to him.

“Fine, fine, I’ll sum it up. And explain some other things for you, since you’re so clueless.” Judar shifts to floating on his back and resting his head on folded arms. “In my world, there were three most powerful countries. The Reim Empire, with that old hag, my Kou Empire, which was the best, and, ugh, Sindria.” His nose wrinkles at the last name, and Vince lifts a brow as cue to elaborate. Obviously, Judar misses the hint.

“Anyway, I was the Oracle and High Priest of the Great Kou Empire. Pretty sweet gig, since I got to do basically whatever I wanted, except…” Judar sighs, and turns serious for a moment. “I was under the control of a cult called Al-Thamen, filled with gross old geezers and that witch.” He spits out the word with venom, and Vince makes a mental note to never bring up ‘that witch’ unless he’s given up on living.

“Eventually I figured out they were using me, thanks to that loser midget, and teamed up with Hakuryuu, who was a prince, to take them down.” There’s a sweet, nostalgic smile on his face that Vincent thinks doesn’t suit the memory of slaughtering a cult at all. This ‘Hakuryuu’ must be a swell guy. Or the most horrible dude ever, considering he’s Judar’s favorite person. He was also royalty, which Vince hasn’t even thought about until now. Man, it really was a totally different world.

“We killed the witch, or her current body at least, and took over the geezers left with his metal vessel. His magic thingy, sorta like my wand, for those less educated among us.” Judar makes a pointed glance to Vincent, and he’s jolted back from his thoughts. Vince gives a quick laugh and takes his armload of bathroom equipment to his suitcase, lying open on his bed. Judar trails after him, slowly, still sifting through foggy memories and figuring out how to stick which words together to get his point across.

“Sounds like a blast, Judar. What happened next?” Vincent sorts the chosen belongings in his suitcase so that they’ll all fit in. Judar’s story, of another world of magic and empires and cults, had captured him, thoughts of his own world nearly slipping his mind. If they were ever going to leave the house, he needed to focus. But, Judar was already talking, and Vince didn’t want to stop him and lose this opportunity. “You and Hakuryuu are doing your rebellion thing. You two were pretty close, huh? By the way, you use a lot of nicknames while explaining stuff. I don’t know who you’re really talking about.” The words falter into an awkward chuckle. He really doesn’t want to upset Judar, but he has no idea what he means.

“Oh, right. The midget’s name is Aladdin, he was the son of the previous god guy I think, I didn’t really pay attention when the squirt was showing us about Alma Turran. He’s a Magi like me, but a lot less cool, total goody-two-shoes.” Judar breezes past the whole ‘son of god’ thing, and heads into his story again. “So everything was going great, Hakuryuu was gonna overthrow Goatee- uh, ‘Crown Prince Kouen’, and we were going to take over the world.” Vincent comes to a realization, while sticking his toothpaste between three books and two blankets.

“Wait, you were the bad guys of your world? And this ‘Aladdin’ person was the son of a god? Jeez, you’ve been holding out on me…” Vincent complains, not very surprised that Judar used to be a super villain. That fits more with his look and personality. Vince is interested to hear how he transitioned from trying to dominate the world to trying to save it. 

“Yeah, well, didn’t feel like telling you before. I hate rambling like this, explaining things is Hakuryuu’s job.” Judar watches Vincent close the suitcase and carry it to the living room before continuing. He hovers only a few inches off the ground, mimicking walking behind Vince. When they’re beside each other like this, you can tell they’re the same height. Judar pouts. Everyone in his group back home was shorter than him, even Hakuryuu. He liked being the tallest.

Vince pulls his phone from his pocket after setting his luggage on the coffee table. He stays quiet, mapping out how far Hayabetsu Town is with an app on his home screen. Vincent left the laptop on the couch last night, so that’ll be easy to get to later. He does have a laptop bag, but should he bring that or try to squeeze the device into his suitcase?

“Anyways, back to my epic tale. Me and Hakuryuu were gonna destroy the world, and make a new one of our own. Guess Sinbad beat us to the punch in the end though, huh?” Judar glances at Vincent’s phone, finds some kind of art piece with tons of overlapping lines and weird symbols, and decides not to bother. Instead he floats to the ceiling, feet just below the peeling paint. He crosses his arms, and his throat feels dry and rough even though he’s not really real anymore. No longer flesh and bone, even less human than he was before. Judar swallows and begins talking again, even though he’s pretty sure Vincent isn’t listening.

“That’s when Goldilocks, Alibaba, and the midget interrupted us. We had a battle, and it ended with Blondie’s soul gone and me zooming through space. Eventually we both made it to the Dark Continent, me from some good old divine intervention, and him after persuading a bunch of dead magicians to send his spirit into a doll.” Judar takes several breaths, evening his heartbeat, before bursting into laughter.

“And then, we found an ancient magical dragon, who carried us back to our home in two years! Man, I guess that sounds insane to a nobody like you, doesn’t it? Thinking about it now, it really is crazy.” Vincent numbly nods, having only heard bits and pieces through his panic over the distance. They’ll have to take a train to Hayabetsu after all. Not that Vince dislikes public transportation; actually he’s pretty fond of it. It’s just… Judar was upset after the car ride, how’s he going to take a train? 

“After we got back, Alibaba was in a coma for a while, and I went out and did some dumb stuff since I couldn’t find Hakuryuu. Turns out he’d won the war, but given the throne to the old hag- er- his cousin, Kougyoku. Because Sinbad wanted to use the midget’s powers to become God, Hakuryuu went with him and Alibaba’s woman into hiding. After another boring year, we all got together again and things were pretty great, for a little bit.” There’s that too-sweet smile again, and that sad softness in his voice making Vince want to hug him and cry together. It doesn’t match Judar at all.

“But Sinbad, that stupid, stuck-up king, found another way to get to the Sacred Palace, which is where all the God stuff happens. He rewrote the rukh, and basically made everyone want to die and go into a new world together, one that’d be under his control. The only people not wack-ifed were the doll, the midget, Hakuryuu, and me. Well, and that idiot Nerva, but he’s not important.” Judar stretches, and his eyes roll. Vincent’s a bit lost, but chooses not to interrupt, instead inching towards his laptop. He can finally send that stubborn email to his counselor.

“Our group went to face him, and that’s where everything went wrong. That’s… That’s the last I saw any of them… That woman was with him, still alive after me and Ryuu killing her twice. Everything fell apart, and it felt like all we’d done before wasn’t worth anything. Now everyone I knew is dead, Sinbad’s the God of his own damn playground, and I’m a ghost, stuck with you.” Judar’s form seems to fizz out for a second, bubbling into black rukh, before he disappears completely. Vincent is still piecing the facts together, assembling Judar’s story with shaking hands, hesitant to complete the truth.

“Judar? Where’d you go? I- Now that I know what happened, I understand how you’re feeling. You’re frustrated and angry that you lost, sad and desperate now that you are alone. But Judar, you’re wrong about that. You’re not alone. Like you said, you got stuck with me, and I’m stuck with you. We’re in this together. We’ll find your friends and fix everything. We just have to trust each other, and we can do this!” Vincent calls out to the shadowy air. Black birds flutter around him, and he can feel the storm of Judar’s spirit and heart. The laptop is open, forgotten on the sofa.

“The world I knew is gone forever. Even if we find them, who knows if they’ll still be the same? And the people, who didn’t come with us to the Palace, are already… I’ll never see them again. This place is all wrong! I feel like I’m breaking apart every time I open my eyes and they’re not here! How the hell am I supposed to move forward like this?” A howl emerges from the churning darkness, and Vincent begins regretting telling Judar to share his story. It was too soon, and those wounds were still fresh even after so many years. Judar never was able to process what had happened. Vincent thinks of his mother’s funeral, and swallows.

“One step at a time, Judar. I know it’s hard, but it’ll get easier. You just have to have faith in yourself. Remember before, after the call with Hokama? We will see tomorrow Judar. We just have to open our eyes, even when it hurts, especially when it hurts, so we can see the light.” There’s breathlessness in his voice, saying the words he’d needed to hear. “I’m here right next to you Judar. You’re not alone. We can get through everything, we just have to keep moving.” Vincent takes a deep breath, and a heavy sigh comes out when the rukh begin concentrating. He can hear sniffles, and a quiet emotional chuckle. 

“You sound just like Alibaba, ya know. He’s always so stupid, so bright and happy. No matter how much he suffers, he takes it with a smile at the end because there’s still a future ahead. Because he cares so damn much about everything, about everybody. I never understood why Aladdin and Hakuryuu were so charmed by him, but I think I’m starting to get it now. Even without that deadly determination of a king vessel, he’s got a different power. Maybe I’ll ask him about it, once we find ‘im.” Judar looks solid again, while still hunched over and hiding his eyes. Vincent can see a peek of a small smile. His dark braid falls around him, curled like the tail of a scorpion.

“Sounds like a plan Judar. Now, I’m gonna run into the kitchen for a sec to grab some food. Don’t explode over my living room again while I’m gone.” Vince flashes a smirk over his shoulder as he dashes to the kitchen. Judar laughs, settling right over the coffee table, beside an already over packed suitcase, to stitch himself back together. He sits in a cross-legged position, and runs his fingers through his hair.

Another meltdown, huh? All that time in the void must have really messed with his head. He used to be able to hide better than this. Judar rocks gently while waiting for Vince to come back. His throat is scratchy and dry from talking, yelling, and crying. He distantly notes how his body responds to his emotions and actions, but he doesn’t feel hungry or tired. Serves him right, he guesses. All that time running from his inner feelings has finally caught up to him.

“Honey, I’m home!” Vincent says in a singsong voice, causing Judar to groan and him to laugh. “Did you miss me? I got a little bit of foodstuff, but I guess that doesn’t matter to you since you can’t eat. Uh, what was your favorite food before? You don’t have to answer, honestly that was rude of me, I’m-“

“Peaches. I loved peaches. Hated vegetables and spicy stuff, but I loved fruit. I would always hang around on the palace’s peach trees and chuck the pits at staff passing by. It was fun, for me, probably not the staff.” Judar smiles at Vincent, and he restrains the urge to do a victory dance. Yes! Look at me, Hokama, I cheered someone up! Vince carries the tied grocery bag and places it on the suitcase.

“I’m sure they enjoyed it just as much, Judar. After all, it would be a blessing to be pelted with peach pits by one as mighty as you.” Vincent can’t help the alliteration, and the tease flows out easily. It’s never been this simple to talk to someone other than Hokama. He returns Judar’s smile and pads to the open laptop.

“You’re damn right it’d be! You know what, I think they should have thanked me for it!” Judar hops up and does a midair somersault to drift above Vincent. Now he’s just showing off, Vince thinks with a grin. He unplugs his laptop charger and buries it in his suitcase, preparing to at last exit his apartment. There should be a train to Hayabetsu available, seeing as how it’s midday. He’ll worry about it later.

“Hey, don’t ya have to send that message thing to your cou- coun- tutor person?” Judar tilts his head at Vince, straightening and adjusting his braid. “It’s just, uh, you seemed kinda worried about that.” He shrugs, and Vincent finds his attempt at nonchalant concern quite endearing.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me Judar.” Vincent steps back to the couch and picks up his laptop. There’s just enough room left in his luggage for it. And if there isn’t, he’ll make some. He skims the email he’d been agonizing over, trying to get the wording just right. Vincent uses this odd rush of uncharacteristic confidence and does something simple.

He presses enter without another thought, sticks the electronic into his suitcase, and leaves the apartment. Judar follows shortly, Vince closes the door after them, and they’re off to the next chapter of their story.


End file.
